


Celsius

by crosyn



Category: Original Work
Genre: Awkward Sexual Situations, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Fear Play, Macro/Micro, Shrinking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-25
Updated: 2019-08-20
Packaged: 2019-12-07 11:47:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,111
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18234449
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crosyn/pseuds/crosyn
Summary: A trainee chef gets more than she bargained for. (Work in progress)





	1. Chapter 1

Chapter One

Rachel Amber sighed, smearing her food covered hands over her kitchen porter uniform in a bid to try and clean them. She failed. She had been on for hours now, and nothing was letting up. She looked around, leaning on the silvery surface, peering through the steam and shouting. The kitchen was a hubbub; it was a whirlwind of activity. The commis-chefs were frantically chopping, stirring, roasting, boiling, while the more junior chefs were doing what they could to assist. It was chaotic, yet focused, with the senior chefs bellowing and taking charge when necessary. Especially Mr Ben Taylor... Rachel shuddered as she thought of him. Excellent chef. Five Michelin stars in the first ten years of running a restaurant. Cooked for monarchs, presidents, actors, academics... the list went on. As she fiddled with the buttons of her uniform, dreaming of how she could aspire to his level, when a shout jerked her out of her dream.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing?" the deep voice bellowed, juddering through her bones. Rachel gulped, recognising it to be Mr Taylor's voice. What poor sous-chef had fucked up this time, she wondered? Nothing for her to worry about.

"You! Miss Wuthering-fucking Heights! Look at me when I'm talking to you!" the voice continued to shout, getting closer. Rachel looked up fearfully. Mr Taylor was marching down the kitchen towards her, dressed in his immaculate executive chef's uniform, all 6.2 feet of him. Other chefs scattered, terrified but thankful they weren't the target of his anger this time. Rachel tried to look nonchalant and not terrified, but Taylor smelled weakness.

"Why on EARTH have you not washed your hands? Not only that, you've covered my surface with fucking food debris, you dozy mare!" he continued to roar, now inches away from her face. Rachel was only 5'2, but felt so much smaller whenever he was near her, and...this was the first time he was up close to her. She had been interviewed by one of his underlings when she got the job, and had only been on for a few weeks. If only she could impress him in some way...

"Well?!" he continued, his voice lower in volume but still intense with anger, one eye throbbing.

"W-well..." she squeaked, making an effort to clean the surface with a dishcloth, and just making things worse.

He looked at her.

She looked at him, noticing the stubble on his face.

He leaned closer to her, drinking in the silence of the entire kitchen as they looked at this confrontation.

"I think it's time you and me had a little chat, Miss Amber." And with that, as well as leaving her wondering how he knew her name, he turned on his heel and walked back into his office at the end of the kitchen, the steam from pots hissing as if to accentuate the tension. She followed him, feeling the eyes of every other chef and kitchen worker bore into her head, making her feel like nothing. She followed him through the oak door, watching him sit down in an old armchair, kitchen paraphanelia on the walls and spirit glasses in an ancient tantalus on an almost spotless desk, with only a few tumblers and an old notebook on the table as well. Once he had sat down, his demeanour changed, turning to an almost gentle warm smile.

"Please, sit." Taylor said kindly, ushering to a battered wooden chair on the other side of the desk. Rachel did, her heart thumping as she did so.

"Miss...Amber. How long have you been here now?" he said, even though she knew he knew.

"Just...over a month." she said, hands gripping the side of the chair.

"How long do you plan to keep working here? Call me Sir when I'm talking to you." he continued, his voice flashing with anger.

"For...as long as I can, Sir." she responded in a quiet voice, utterly terrified now.

"I know that. I see you have potential. But...do something like that again, and you'll be out on your arse before you can say KFC. Got it?" he growled again. So many emotions, and so changeable, she thought, but she shook those away.

"Yes, sir."

He smiled again. "Good, good! Now, would you like a drink? I understand that it's nearly the end of your shift, so you might as well. Chat to me as well about what you want here." he asked, opening one of the opaque bottles, and pouring a tumbler full of the...green? weird. liquid into her glass. She began to relax a bit. Maybe... this was a test to see if she was really good? She didn't drink much, but fuck it. She gripped it in her hand, and took it, smiling. She plucked up the courage to ask: "Sir, aren't you drinking?" She caught a glint in his eye as he said "Oh no, not during work. But you have fun." he chuckled.

She shrugged. If Sir said it was fine, then sure. She drank it, and as she did so, she relaxed a bit. They talked about her future, what she liked, how she was inspired by him, how she loved cooking... all the time she didn't realise that:

the glass was getting bigger in her hand

her chef uniform was becoming baggier

the chair was becoming larger and larger as she sat on it

her voice was becoming fainter and fainter

the desk was becoming larger and larger

all this she didn't notice

until 

she finished the last drop of the drink. She...realised the glass was growing in her hand? What the hell? She dropped it, and it fell to the floor, shattering. She gasped in shock and surprise, and got off the chair to get a dustpan to clean up. Until she realised that she couldn't. The chair was huge to her. So was the drop to the floor. She stood up, and ran to the other end of the chair. She couldn't reach the top of the back anymore. She must have... shrunk? No. Impossible. As she squeaked in surprise, she felt... a roar echo through her bones as Taylor leant in close to her. He was huge. She could almost swim in his eyes. She could be swallowed by him in an instant. One press of his fingers (and one grab of her hand) could immobilise or crush her. He smiled. 

"Yes. You've shrunk. Yes, I did it. Yes, you are insignificant. Yes, I can grow you back. Yes, you are around 2 and a half inches. No, I'm not going to yet. If you are going to become a great chef, then you are going to spend time with me, you little shrink slut." he whispered, with even his low whisper buffeting through her body. With that, she felt herself being grabbed by fingers larger than her, knocking the breath out of her, and held tightly in his hand. She tried to wriggle free, but she was totally unable to even squirm.

"Now, if you make a fucking sound, I will make you the size of an ant and will leave you in the entrees. Is that clear?" she heard him say, muffled yet so loud through her flesh prison.

"Well?!" he roared.

\------  
Chapter 2  
\------

She trembled in her prison. What was she to do? Her mind raced at a million miles an hour as her entire world shook. She could feel her entire body rising through the air in her jail, and felt quieter. "Respond, you toy!" he acidly whispered, her tiny self feeling the sheer power of him. He was...impossibly huge. Impossibly powerful. Impossible to even conceive of. With this going through her mind, she could only shout as loud as her tiny voice could carry that she understood, the words a stuttering, blabbering mess. He seemed satisfied with this, and strode out through the door of his office, stuffing her in his pocket as he did so. She burrowed herself into it, cowering amongst the keys almost as big as her. How could she escape? Could she escape? Where would she go? She looked up, trying to ignore the constant shaking and buffeting that was occurring as he walked around, seeing the light shine through the opening of the pocket. She clambered up, and peered out. She wish she hadn't.

The floor was so far down. It was almost comically far away. Rachel shuddered, thinking about how far she would fall if she lost her hold, her tiny self clinging even harder to the inside of the pocket. The entire kitchen looked absolutely enormous; chefs looked like giants, and knives she could see towered over here. Even food was enormous to her, a grotesque parody. A carrot larger than her...she grimaced, dismissing dirty thoughts from her head. All of this drove further ideas into her head though about how perilous her situation was, and how tiny she was. Even if by some miracle she did get free, people would mistake her for a bug. An insect. At two and a half inches, she was just too small to survive in a busy kitchen. Anything could...kill her. She squeaked in fear, and fell back into the pocket, and shivered. Over the next two hours (or at least as she could tell), Taylor strode around the kitchen, barking orders, greeting customers in the brief times he stepped out into the plush restaurant, and being an excellent chef. Eventually, the orders started to slow then stop, the chefs turned off the equipment, the dishes were washed, the floors were mopped, the surfaces and equipment were cleaned, and what was a frantic rush of a kitchen became serene, ready for the next day.

Apart from Taylor.

He grinned, the dim lights bouncing off his teeth. He was very ready for his new toy. After ensuring that everyone had departed, scanning through the darkened restaurant and locking the door of the kitchen, he reached into his pocket, and smiled when his grasping fingers closed around something soft and squirming. He dragged Rachel out, and tipped her onto the table. She tumbled out head over heels, landing awkwardly on the surface of the kitchen. 

Wincing as she fell onto the shiny surface, she looked down at her reflection on the surface as she knelt on all fours. She looked... vulnerable. Even to herself. Everything yawned over her, her tininess being absolute. Taylor's hand hovered over her, looking enormous and beastly in the reflection. She whipped round, crying out in surprise. He grinned, almost seeming to enjoy it as she tried to scamper away before a hand slammed down in front of her, knocking her straight onto her arse.

"I do this to all the ones that interest me, you know." He chuckled, pinching her two legs between his thumb and forefinger, and sweeping her up before his eyes, relishing the wriggling and flailing of her. She looked at him, terrified. His arms stretched out for so long, the muscles rippling against his suit jacket. A collarbone longer than her entire body by far lay below her. His enormous blue eyes were so large, she felt she could get lost in them. The stubble on his face could cause her to draw blood, she shuddered He strode over to a nearby vat of lukewarm soup, ignoring the faint squeaks of "Fuck you!" that were coming from her. He drank her in. Her messy brown hair cascaded down over her head in her upside down state, and her breasts looked so tiny yet so ...in proportion to her. She was so small, yet still a woman. Well, a toy.

Not hearing any response he felt he should reply to, he continued. 

"Yes, I shrink all the interesting ones. Ones that have spark. Ones that I feel I want under my control. Ones that... will do well under my tutelage. I've shrunk most of the female chefs here at one point or another; to serve under me, you really have to SERVE me. You have to be broken down. You have to be insignificant. You have to know what it's like to be a mere plaything. A fucking TOY for my pleasure. Only then, and only then, will you know how to be a great chef. And if you fail?" he whispered, tightening his grip on her, and looking into her tiny, fear-filled eyes.

"I'll eat you, you irrelevant fuck." he stated calmly. As he said this, he opened his mouth, and threw Rachel in with nary a thought.

Her whole world tumbled. It was a soaking, boiling, craggy atmosphere. The very floor undulated. Rachel pushed aside the terror, and tried to stand up. The tongue buckled, and she was sent sprawling across a molar. Her irrelevancy. Her total diminished status. Everything was made clear. She was tiny. A morsel. A bite. As she was thinking this, he smiled, and tipped his head back, sending her tumbling towards his throat.


	2. Boiling Point

As she fell, scrabbling and whimpering with fear, thinking that this would be the end of it, her world shifted again as he spat her out onto a waiting tissue in his hand. She laid there for what seemed like hours, somewhat in shock. She shuddered looking around, the moisture from his mouth still clinging to her as she sat on on his palm, the flesh firm yet giving way slightly with her weight. The warmth of his hand spread up through her, so at least she wasn't cold at that size. The palm was rough from 20 or so years of being a chef, but they were attractive as hell. Rachel shook her head. Why was she thinking these pleasant thoughts? She was shrunk and at the mercy of Taylor.

Taylor started laughing, the laughter roaring through Rachel's head, filling her very being with the volume of it. "Of course I wasn't going to fucking eat you, you toy. Why would I do that? I mean, you are a tasty morsel... enough to flavour some food, I would wager?" He said brightly. After he said this, he started moving over to the counter, the g-forces pinning Rachel to his hand with the speed of moving. Everything was so familiar, yet so alien to her. A tiny movement from his hand could send her plummeting to her doom on the kitchen floor, so she whimpered and clung as much as she could to the rough surface of his palm. He opened up a fridge, and brought out a perfect cacio e pepe, placing it on the counter, bringing out a fork and a pepper mill as well. She looked down as he was doing this with one hand, marvelling at how enormous the food looked. The bowl would tower over her, and it wasn't even worth thinking how the pepper mill would crush her absolutely if it fell on her, or even if she was underneath. She had a mental image of being on a table in the restaurant, two impossibly glamorous diners unhearing or uncaring of her squeaks and pleas, desperate to be heard. One of them used the pepper mill, and she tried to escape, but alas she could not get out from under it in time. She was too small to escape. She shuddered, and focused on the less shocking yet terrifying events going on in front of her. Well, she tried anyway. Her palm world fell away as he angled his hand 90 degrees, leaving her to drop suddenly into the pasta, not even able to scream as she fell into it.

He looked down as she struggled to stand up or even make sense of what had happened. His smile was...terrifying. The pasta was freezing cold, and the cheese within it was cloying. Sticking to her as she slathered her way to some kind of standing position. She finally got level, and glared up at Taylor. 

"What the fuck do you want, you prick?" she squeaked up at him, wincing internally at how ridiculous she sounded, her voice a reminder of her reduced stature and status.

He grinned wider, causing her to almost want to run. She glanced left and right, seeing if there was any escape. She potentially could run... but the drop from the bowl would be a lot, and also where could she go? The edges of the counter seemed so far away, and how would she get down before she was caught again, an enormous hand closing around her, plunging her into gloom. He spoke."Well, time to test how good of a chef you are, you irrelevant toy. Do you know how pathetic your situation is? How hopeless? Your status is almost nothing compared to me, both as a chef and in general now. I could crush you with a fingertip, you stain. I could swallow you without a moment's thought, even if I don't want to right now. You are destined to be nothing to me, and you need to accept that, or be rendered nothing."

With that, he used the pepper grinder over the dish, lightly dusting it with dark flecks of pepper, spicing it. She could smell how good quality it was... damn, even in this situation, she still admired him. And lusted after him. What the hell? How could she possibly do anything for him? She was fucking tiny. He continued: "Well, as you know, cacio de pepe has pepper in it. Or as you should fucking know, Christ. But this one has two special ingredients aside from that." He proceeded to bring out a bottle of green liquid, and pour it over her and the pasta.

She tingled.

She shrank.

"What?" Taylor gasped, looking up at the world growing around her, the pasta looming larger and larger, the pepper flakes becoming more...boulder-like. She was shrinking again! She panicked, and tried to climb over the pasta, but it was simply too viscous for her to walk through, and her work was becoming more challenging by the second, as she tripped over and fell over into it, feeling herself shrink into a footprint of her three-inch self. She looked up, terrified to see that he was getting so much larger. So much more powerful. So much more...godlike. He opened his mouth, and the universe exploded with sound. "The other ingredient is at the bottom. It's a herb. If you can touch it, then it'll act as an antidote to this lovely shrink drug, and you'll grow back to your normal size. I'll offer you compensation of a few hundred thousand dollars to make up for the events of tonight, give you an excellent reference, and I'll let you on your way. If not?" He shrugged, ignoring (and unable to hear anyway) her tiny squeaks as she shrank more and more.

"Hope you enjoy living in an ant-farm you've carved out of a peppercorn, as that's all you'll be able to do."

Her panicking and tingling blurred together as she took these words in. She almost crumpled, ready to just accept shrinking to that size. However, she steeled herself, yelled a tiny yet defiant "Fuck you!" at him, and started to dig/swim her way down to the bottom of the bowl. As she swam, she shrank. As she shrank, she swam. The pasta and cheese became so large, so clingy... yet she had to continue. The ceiling above her was now so far away, and the room was even larger than before. She couldn't even conceive of how large it was, and how huge and godlike Taylor was. 

She HAD to make it.

She HAD

HAD

to

do

it

or

else

she...

FUCK

She was still shrinking, and she was finding it more and more difficult to make her way down. It was hard to breathe. It was so cold as it was in the fridge. She... had to keep going. 

She heard a rumble. A vast soaring in the air from...somewhere. A huge rush. A change. She tried to work out what it was until her world was swept away. The air and cheese and pasta cleared somewhat (although going on for a vast distance below her, it seemed), and again g-forces pinned her still as she soared through the air. A drop of...blue? Fell on her, and she found herself elated as the world shrank around her. She was actually growing! She looked around, gleeful at the room appearing slightly less monstrous than before. However, it then stopped. She was crestfallen, sighing as she reached her old (well, oldish) height of a few inches. All was still. She actually decided to look around, and realised that she was on a long metal spoon, a load of pasta underneath her, and disconcertingly near his mouth, which was so huge, along with his face. His eyes were like lakes, she found herself thinking. He spoke, again almost deafening her and knocking these thoughts out of her head.

"I've given you one last chance before I shrink you to a dot. What is the key to making a good cacio de pepe?" He whispered, holding the green shrink potion above her, ready to drip on her and send her plummeting to tininess. She gulped. What was good about it? It's such a simple dish, but so easy to get wrong! The cheese, obviously. The pepper? Clearly. Spaghetti is crucial in that it has to be thick. But getting it to stick.

To stick.

"Time's up." Taylor said quietly.

"WAIT!" she squeaked frantically. He paused, the potion so close to being poured out on her.

"You...have to not include butter in it! If you do that, it decreases the flavour of the cheese and pepper, and thus the meal becomes less good overall! Please don't shrink me! I'll be good!" she continued, babbling in her panic.

He stared. He narrowed his eyes. He almost grew angry, a vengeful god.

And then he started laughing.

"Fuck me, you show promise! Nobody ever gets that! The skill is in making it all stick without a binding agent like that, so well done!" he chuckled, placing the spoon gently down on the side, and tipping it over so she fell out of it, still confused. As this happened, he dumped around 1/10 of the blue potion on her, and to her joy and amazement, she started to grow again. This time, she didn't stop. She kept growing. 3 inches. 5 inches. 10. 2 feet. 3 feet. 4 feet. 5 feet. She frowned. She...seemed smaller. He saw her confusion (thank God, he was far closer in height now, even if she was still a bit scared of him), and said "Until you become a commis chef, you will be 2 inches shorter, I'm afraid." She started to whine a bit, but he raised an eyebrow and shook the green potion, shutting her up, even as he handed her her clothes from a locker, which she surmised he must have put them in earlier. As she dressed, praising inwardly how glad she was that the room seemed normal sized, she spoke, words falling out of her mouth. "Thank you so much, sir! Thank you so much!" she babbled, so relieved and feeling some kind of thanks towards him, bafflingly. His demeanour continued to soften, and he put an arm around her, ignoring her flinching slightly as she did so.

"No problem, Miss Amber. Or should I say, Junior Chef? You impressed me tonight. My best chefs do that. Now, I have one condition for continuing. I won't shrink you again, but I need you to show absolutely commitment to me, and never ever go to the police about this, otherwise you will end up being a millimetre in soup. Do I make myself clear?" he said, his words turning to steel at the end. She nodded, thankful but scared. He broke out in a wide grin about this. "Excellent. As you may have surmised, I've promoted you, and as long as you work for me for at least three years, I will be happy to give you an excellent reference or you can continue working for me. I pay excellently as you know, and as long as you behave, tiny-" the words cutting into her psyche like a knife - "then we will be fine. Now, off you get." As he said this, he abruptly turned on his heel and left through the double doors of the kitchen, leaving them swinging. 

Rachel stood there for a while. Why was she so aroused?


End file.
